No Cause For Alarm
by Sakura123
Summary: S2, AU : Veronica Donovan has never been on the run, yet there she was. Hiding in some seedy hotel room. Written for "pbreak drabbles" #20th challenge, "Just Breathe".


_**No Cause for Alarm**_

**Title: No Cause for Alarm**

**Summary:** [S2, AU]: Veronica Donovan has never been on the run, yet there she was. Hiding in some seedy hotel room.

**Author: Sakura123** (weber_dubois22)

**Rating: K+**

**Characters:** Veronica Donovan, Lincoln Burrows, L.J Burrows

**Chapters:** 1/1

**Word Count: 694**

**Written: 10/18/2010**

**Completed: 10/19/2010**

**Disclaimer**: _Prison Break_ and all things related are property of 20th Century Fox Television and Paul Scheuring. I own nothing save [the] storyline and original characters.

**Author's Note:** The idea behind this is inspired by the _"Bolshoi Booze"_ and _"Disconnect"_, where Sara is captured by Kellerman and tortured for information. I made the assumption that if circumstances were different and Veronica survived that The Company would be after her (maybe even use her for bait to fish Lincoln out and bring him to them if she were caught). This was written a bit on the fly and pressed for time, so the ending is sort of abrupt.

* * *

Veronica Donovan had never been on the run, let alone a subject of interrogation tactics. Yet there she was, hiding in some seedy hotel room with her fugitive ex and his son, sporting injuries that burned like the devil. The silence of the room made for an eerie contrast to the everyday noise outside. She couldn't remember a time when she had been so scared of shadows and voices that passed the doors and window, every muscle ready to spring for the exit. Raising her head from the arm that substituted as a pillow, Veronica tossed the covers aside and climbed out of the bed. The early morning sun illuminated the small room, making everything look more surreal than she originally remembered.

The salmon colored paint, peeling gradually away from the walls when no one was watching, made her feel nauseous and she hurried toward the bathroom. She pushed past the half-open door, eyes focused on the marble sink. Her palms pressed themselves against the edges of the sink, lowering her head she braced herself for the tide of bile that churned in her stomach. Her muscles clinched, her toes turned inward as she lifted herself slightly up on the balls of her toes. Yesterday's lunch came spilling out onto the once pristine sink, the taste of French fries and soda coated her tongue. She gagged and coughed until the fit was over and she was left without a breath to catch.

Her head ached and her ears rang, somewhere between her choking fit she heard the all too familiar squawk of a sob. Her hands found their way to her mouth, effectively smothering the next sob that escaped her. Her chest heaved and her resolve crumbled completely. Leaning against the edge of the sink she tried to cry quietly so as not to disturb father and son sleeping in the other room. Breathe. Just breathe, Veronica. It's over, they can't hurt you anymore. She repeated the flimsy attempt at self-comfort over and over in her head until it blocked everything else out of her immediate attention. However, it did little to quiet the cries that were becoming more intense the longer she tried to keep them inside.

The familiar touch of Lincoln's hand sliding across her shoulder elicited a startled yelp. She stumbled away from his reach, arms taut and ready to swing. Lincoln raised his hands in a show of peace. "It's alright, Veronica, it's only me," He whispered softly. Veronica studied his disheveled appearance, the stubble on his face, looking for traces of the events that transpired only forty-eight hours ago.

His suede jacket and the empty revolver laid somewhere discarded in the room next to L.J.'s bed, momentarily forgotten. She let out a shaky breath and curled her hands into fists. Lincoln's gaze shifted briefly toward the vomit in the sink before he approached her. "Are you alri-?"

"Dad, is Veronica alright?" L.J's voice drifted out from the right side of the room, distracting both adults. Veronica almost laughed at the concern in his voice.

"No. No, I'm not L.J," She spoke loud enough for him to hear.

Lincoln's gaze, slightly admonishing, never left hers. "She's fine, L.J.," The tone his voice left no room for argument. "The French fries didn't agree with her is all." The faint sound of protest from his son was cut off when Lincoln shut the bathroom door. Veronica remained where she was, almost afraid to go anywhere near him and on some level he understood why.

He spoke not a word as he surveyed the day old bruises underneath her jaw and arms. Instead he raised his arms, inviting her into his embrace. There was a moment of hesitation before she obliged and pressed herself against him. Lincoln felt the tension leave her body as she let out a cry against the fabric of his shirt. He pressed a kiss against her head, knowing he couldn't do anymore than he was now. "It's alright, Vee," He whispered. "You're safe. I promise."

* * *

**( End )**


End file.
